


Fill This Void In Me

by crookedspoon



Series: Let your fingers do the talking [1]
Category: Bleach
Genre: Community: 31_days, Deepthroating, Dubious Consent, F/M, M/M, Masturbation, Merry Month of Masturbation Challenge, Mild Blood, Mild Language, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Pre-Canon, Sibling Incest, Vaginal Fingering, Voyeurism, Wordcount: 5.000-10.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-07
Updated: 2013-05-31
Packaged: 2017-12-10 21:55:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/790602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crookedspoon/pseuds/crookedspoon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A shift in power goes on in the background; someone's going to be delighted hearing about it.</p><div class="quote">
  <p>    <i>"The new wing is ready, Aizen-sama."</i><br/><i>"Excellent. Thank you for overseeing it. The preparations for the move are almost complete."</i><br/><i>It's nothing but a preamble, this meaningless small talk: a reason to summon him.</i><br/></p>
</div>
            </blockquote>





	1. anacrusis

**Author's Note:**

> (Mini-collection of porny bits written for the Merry Month of Masturbation challenge in May 2013.)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's nothing more than a prelude, this meaningless chatter, and it always leads to Szayel with his head buried in Aizen-sama's lap.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1855 words.
> 
> Warnings: deep-throating, implied sibling incest
> 
> Also written for the prompt May 2nd, "fake smiles, seen 'em all, I just don't need it" @ 31_days

"The new wing is ready, Aizen-sama."

"Excellent. Thank you for overseeing it. The preparations for the move are almost complete."

It's nothing but a preamble, this meaningless small talk: a reason to summon him. Oh, surely, they exchange information as they always do -- after all, that's the point behind status reports -- but only on the surface. ("How is your research coming along? That reiatsu-suppression device? Your surveillance equipment? Do you need any more test subjects?")

No matter how these encounters are initiated (for sometimes Aizen-sama would call on him in his observation room), they always end with Szayel's head in Aizen-sama's lap.

Szayel hasn't found out the real reason for it yet, neither for the prelude nor his actual performance. Aizen-sama doesn't seem too interested in it, just smiles softly (smugly), leaving Szayel to wonder whether this is some attempt at humiliation, but surely Aizen-sama knows that power play has no effect on Szayel. Or perhaps that's why, because Szayel, given his nature, has the least inhibition about suchlike activities of all the Arrancar.

They would take it slow at first.

(Aizen-sama is by no means an impatient man, as evidenced by his current operative: decades of planning and careful groundwork have gone into it. So why this, then? This instant gratification is rather out of character. Or does it balance out the long buildup of his plans?)

Szayel would kneel on the cold floor tiles in front of Aizen-sama's throne, drag his gloved fingers over Aizen-sama's thighs or smooth them down the front of his _shihakushou_ , educing a soft hiss of cloth on cloth.

He would tuck a strand of hair behind his ear, lick his lips and look up at Aizen-sama before undoing the sash of his hakama. It's all a show for Aizen-sama, well-choreographed, because Szayel is a perfectionist and wants Aizen-sama to believe this is real, even though he knows it isn't. The things one does for one's master.

It should be disconcerting, this silence throughout it all, not a whisper of encouragement, but Szayel savours the attention on him.

Szayel would take both ends of the sash between thumb and forefinger and tug them in opposite directions, slowly, applying the same amount of force and watching the loops shrinking, shrinking, curling in on themselves and coming undone. He would need to suppress a sigh, because of the satisfaction unraveling gives him, no matter the intricacy; it's almost absurd.

He would like to unravel Aizen-sama like this. But the man remains a mystery, without a nook for Szayel to dive into.

Case in point (or, one of many): Aizen-sama is very distant, not only from Szayel, but apparently from his own body, too. He's always flaccid when Szayel parts the fabric. This is intriguing. Normally, Szayel would expect some sort of reaction given the prospect of his position. The mind is not idle and would anticipate various welcome scenarios that should induce arousal. His brother, for example, is usually stirring or already erect by the time Szayel has stripped him, but then again, his brother is as lusty as Szayel himself is - brash too, and unable to control his desires. 

With Aizen-sama, it is different. (Szayel should think it blasphemy to compare his brother with Aizen-sama, but for that he would first have to revere the man as a deity. His Hougyouku-released body may want him to believe that, but Szayel doesn't listen to innate beliefs; he has to test them first, view them from every angle and in different light until he's found the vital flaw to crack them open.) Either he takes no pleasure in such fantasies or perhaps doesn't find Szayel attractive enough for a response. Or perhaps he wants to give Szayel the satisfaction of stimulating him through acquired skill and not inherent looks.

Self-control, in any case.

Szayel would first use his fingers to coax some interest out of Aizen-sama, run them along his length, gossamer-light, tracing the veins - because blood fascinates him. He would watch life flush into it, if life can be said to course through the body of a Shinigami.

It's always a bit awkward, touching him like this, while he's sitting down, because Szayel would love to run his fingers over Aizen-sama's scrotum to his perineum and back, cupping his testicles in his palms and mentally measuring their weight. His brain needs some exercise, after all, it can't be allowed to idle. Unfortunately, his gloves would prevent him from sampling the texture of Aizen-sama's skin. He can only examine the taste, once Aizen-sama is fully erect.

Aizen-sama never says anything, never offers a hint of what he likes or what he would want Szayel to do. Szayel has built this pattern from previous experience, although Aizen-sama doesn't divulge information, not even involuntarily through depth of breath, flutter of eyelashes or perspiration. He doesn't even twitch.

The final result is the same in any case, Szayel just can't figure out whether Aizen-sama enjoys this. His gaze remains unbroken, the same benevolent (or is it ironic?) mask he always wears.

Szayel would then curl his fingers around the shaft lightly and stroke without tugging at the skin. He would love to break Aizen-sama to get some reaction out of him; maybe clamp his nipples with something, or lacerate his skin, or use electricity, but Aizen-sama is too strong to be overpowered, of course, and Szayel doesn't want to breach the subject. This might even be different if they were to alternate the scenario just a little, to get out of this almost clinical setup with both of them still mostly clothed in these stark white surroundings that smell of nothing. Not that Aizen-sama's reactions are different when he visits Szayel in his surveillance room, but the experience is different for Szayel. (The dimness and the multitude of flickering screens have a stirring effect.)

The only participation Szayel can expect from Aizen-sama is the hand is hair, which only comes during his oral ministrations and which he eagerly anticipates.

Szayel's tongue dips into the opening of Aizen-sama's foreskin, drags across the slit it finds there, and his lips follow, pushing back the skin to free the rose-coloured head. He licks around it, then takes into his mouth again and sucks. It's so hot, so different from the cold, stale taste of Hollows. Even his brother never warms this much under him. Szayel alternates between licking and sucking, pressing his tongue flat against the pulsing veins, but when he next closes his mouth over Aizen-sama's length, he feels his scalp prickle beneath the fingers that are snaking into his hair.

Szayel has to suppress a moan - because if he doesn't receive any, he wouldn't give any, either.

Aizen-sama's hand stills at the base of his skull and applies minimal pressure, guiding Szayel down the length of him. Szayel extends his tongue a little and stretches his neck, allowing Aizen-sama to glide past his uvula and down his throat, until his nose digs into Aizen-sama's stiff pubic hairs. Aizen-sama doesn't move, just holds him there. Szayel can't breathe like this and he wonders if that's what Aizen-sama wants to try out, how long he can keep Szayel there before he chokes.

But Aizen-sama releases him shortly after, and Szayel has enough time for two wet gulps of air, before Aizen-sama invades him again. He's very slick from Szayel's saliva and glides down easily. This time, he stays longer.

Out of habit, his body tries to suck in air through his nose, but it dies in a wet gargle and Szayel's throat constricts around Aizen-sama. Szayel is beginning to feel light-headed and dizzy and his face is starting to tingle. A bead of sweat burns a trail down his cheek that turns to a chill in the cold room.

Szayel pulls back the moment the pressure at the base of his skull abates, but again doesn't have much time to breathe. Of course, he could constrict his throat muscles to keep Aizen-sama out, but Szayel doesn't admit defeat easily. Or at all. And he wouldn't want to miss out on Aizen-sama's reactions to this, because if he's not mistaken - the rush in his ears is quite loud - Aizen-sama is now breathing just a little harder.

Szayel doesn't feel threatened by this; in fact, it's exciting, the lack of oxygen and the slow unraveling of Aizen-sama. Oh, he's still in control, that's true, but this won't take much longer.

His own body is showing signs of arousal too, straining hard against the front of his hakama. Apparently, he enjoys to be of service. His fingers dig into Aizen-sama thighs; he intends to keep them there. He wouldn't touch himself in front of Aizen-sama unless ordered to.

Szayel swallows then, just for something to do, something to keep his attention from his own erection, and he's rewarded with a small sigh from Aizen-sama. He can feel his heartbeat growing in his throat. The hand lets him surface for air, then pushes him down again, this time guiding him forward and back on his length, breaching his throat over and over. It tickles and burns, but he manages to stay still, listens instead for Aizen-sama's deeper breathing. The sound resonates in his groin.

Slowly, Szayel notices pressure settling on his body and it's not the pressure of arousal, at least not his own. It's Aizen-sama's reiatsu that's condensing the air and suffocating him. Szayel's vision reels and the prickling is stronger, tiny pins and needles all over his body that suddenly feels too confined in his uniform.

He hums and so does Aizen-sama; his reiatsu is getting stronger, immobilizing Szayel, so Aizen-sama can press him into his lap again and hold him there. Szayel's tongue reaches the man's scrotum. He can now feel him twitch and he thinks he might be close, hopes he is, because he is reaching his limit, too. He briefly wonders what would happen if he were to suffocate, because he hasn't yet tried killing himself through asphyxiation, so the results are unclear.

Aizen-sama stiffens then, and Szayel can feel something hot running down his esophagus. Interesting.

The hand is withdrawn from his head, and Szayel settles back on his heels, gulping in sloppy breaths and trying to still his own trembling. The cold tiles send a chill up through his heated legs. His hair clings to his face and his mask slides down to the tip of his nose. The tingling grows with every movement on his skin. Especially the shift of his uniform that sticks to his body.

Exhaling, Aizen-sama leans back in his seat, face composed save for the flush on his cheeks, the sweat on his brows and the liquid fire in his eyes. Szayel finds himself spellbound.

Any moment now, Aizen-sama would steeple his fingers and thank him for his detailed report. Szayel is already shaking, perhaps not with mirth but with desire, but it's slowly building and he isn't certain he'd be able to keep the laughter to himself.

Aizen-sama may be an impatient man, but he isn't a funny one. And as such, wouldn't take well to being laughed at.


	2. appetite and defiance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What’s a girl to do when she craves attention?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 610 words.
> 
> Warnings: PWP, mild D/s and bloodplay
> 
> Also written for the prompt May 10, "the final station on this line for me" @ 31_days

Hueco Mundo is just boring when there’s no one to fight: unending moonless nights and bleached-bone desert and a caving want she cannot fill.

What’s a girl to do when she craves attention? (She can’t scream like a child in a fit, or batter the walls – her charms do not affect her master.)

She has to settle for the second-best.

“C’mon, you lowly Arrancar, move your lazy fingers.” A sharp crack snaps in the white room and to his credit, he does not flinch. She bites her whip when it coils against her palm once more. This is how she loves him: on his knees.

His long fingers glide into her easily, one stroke, two. His tongue follows. She can’t see it, her skirt obscures the view, but she can feel how he forces it through the pressed slit of his mouth and his eyes are scrunched shut in distaste.

Laughter rises from her depth, not lust, and it forces her upright, forces his fingers deeper, trapped between the cushion and her weight.

She gathers his long hair in one hand, yanks it to the side, and whips the exposed flesh with the other. “Now who said you could taste me?”

His head snaps up and he glares at her and she aches to devour him just then, lick the acid from his eyes and suck the sockets dry. She loves him like this: snarling, choking on his wordlessness.

He knows she could snap his neck for the wrong sound, and would, given the chance.

She drops her whip and lets his red-flecked strands slip to his chest. He should count himself fortunate: he was about the prettiest Arrancar in Hueco Mundo and she allowed him the privilege of touching her. No need to be greedy.

She watches droplets of blood run down his back and catches them with her fingertips, drags them back up, through the gashes and over his shoulder blades. This is why she has him strip his waistcoat after he kneels, has him slide it slowly down his arms and onto the floor, where it hides his feet. 

His skin is marvelous with every new scar she leaves, and she knows he’s cursing her with every breath, _bitch, bitch, bitch, fucking whore_ , but he won’t say so, because he wants to keep his tongue.

And when she comes, her fingers clutch at the Hollow hole in his chest. She waits a moment for the tension to subside, then shoves his shoulders away.

“I'm done. You can go now,” she says, because this is how she loves him: aching, as he leaves.


	3. linger and see

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If there’s one joy he shares with Aizen-sama it is that of observation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 680 words.
> 
> Warnings: Mild gore, masturbation, voyeurism, incest
> 
> Also written for the prompt May 13, "a telltale sign: you don't know where to draw the line" @ 31_days.

If there’s one joy he shares with Aizen-sama it is that of observation. That’s why this room exists, opening countless windows to all corners in Las Noches. The palace crawls with Hollow lifeforms and as such, this room thrums with excitement.

There’s so much to watch.

He delights in the flesh-gorging, tissue-renting, tendon-stripping urgency of it all; snapping bones and popping joint; it’s luscious, lewd, luxuriant, how they suck the blood, slurp the marrow and gobble up the entrails, as if they’ve never feasted on better, and Szayel clamps his teeth around his own gloved knuckles to keep still and watch, fighting the urge to appear beside them and shove his fingers into their wounds and down their throats, because he needs to analyze the reishi composition of their excitement to know just _what_ goes on inside their tiny brains.

The Espada and their Fracción alike are still such base creatures, living mostly by their instincts to dominate and destroy, no matter their strength. 

He's different, of course. His strength may not be exceptional, but it’s enough to guarantee certain privileges and indulgences. He wears his new number with pride, and amusement too, because whoever sees it does so with a purpose.

His eyes train on his brother, picked out from the multitude of tiny screens, and he grins around the fingers of his right hand. What a sight. His brother kneels and services that witch, back oozing from her cuts, and he’s livid: his eyes are sparkling with rage, but he’s trying hard to keep his face blank. His brother is weak. That’s why she can use him so: he wouldn’t stand a chance against her in a fight.

Szayel mentally thanks them for the show. If he wanted to, he could later sample her from what data the Spirit Bugs in Ilfort’s body had gathered. But she’s no longer interesting; Aizen-sama will replace her soon. 

He types a few commands into the control panel, magnifies the feed and centers it. How fascinating that Arrancar would display primal urges like this -- as if the hunger for souls wasn’t enough.

Chuckling, he leans back and unwinds the sash of his hakama. The heavy fabric licks down his legs. He’d love to see his brother in the same position before him, glaring with the same intensity. How he enjoys that hatred.

He traces the number tattooed on his inner thigh and a smirks.

Infinity. Perfection.

His fingers curl around himself and he pulls back the skin, drags his middle finger through the Hollow hole it reveals. It’s a curious feeling: absence, numbness, excess. The black skin encircling nothingness is dead to the touch, but the rest of his glans is as sensitive as it has been in life.

In his mind, he can see Ilfort’s mouth covering it -- that way he wouldn’t have to see. He can feel his brother’s tongue running along and through the hole, tasting him like he wanted that witch, and Szayel slips another finger through it. The pressure is almost painful, and he flicks his thumb over the slit of his penis to soften the edge.

He imagines he’d smear pre-ejaculate on his brother’s cheeks, over his lips or into his hair. He loves to cover his face in semen, rub his erection across his jaw and down his neck; loves to soil him like that -- because Ilfort hates it. All the more reason.

Szayel watches her ride out her orgasm on his brother’s fingers, knowing she won’t let him come, and loses himself to the friction of his glove’s fabric; it was delectable, almost like someone else’s hand.

But he can't come like this, not with so many nerve-endings missing. The feeling is... skewed. It's frustrating and he can almost imagine how his brother must feel like this very moment. Almost. This doesn't compare.

With a sigh, he lets go of himself, still hard and thrumming. He doesn't need this. Doesn't need to manually stimulate himself to reach a state of bliss. It's merely chemistry; he could create this state himself if he wanted to.


	4. release me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ilfort wants revenge and goes to his brother for help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1615 words. Using the English version "Ilfort" here, because "Yylfordt" is too much of a bitch to write.
> 
> Warnings: language, sibling incest
> 
> Also written for May 21st, "last chance to lose control" @ 31_days.

Ilfort's back itches -- no: his entire skin, and his throat, too. His muscles contract and he wants to vomit. _That disgusting bitch_. The phantom of her _reiatsu_ is still crawling over him, and he can't decide whether he'd rather scrub himself down with nettles or bathe in acid to get rid of that feeling.

He’s gonna show her. One day he’s gonna rip out all her limbs and stuff them down her throat, and when he’s done, she’s gonna beg him to fuck every hole she has left.

Oh, he would use her until he was satisfied and leave _her_ soaked and wanting.

He jabs his arms through his coat, almost ripping it -- he might as well: it would at least appear as if he'd been in a scuffle. Then there would be no shame in the gashes that bled into the fabric. He yanks his hair from under it, red and black at the tips and flaking.

He stalks along the gleaming corridors, footsteps echoing despite the soft tread of his _waraji_. Deceptive emptiness. He _knows_ he’s being watched -- been watched, during all of it. As if the chill in his spine was the product of his brother’s derisive eyes. How he’d love to ram his horns into them.

And yet, his bastard of a brother could be useful, Ilfort had to admit. Or rather, the equipment he made. 

*

He opens the door and his gaze can't but fall on his brother. He is leaning back in his chair, facing him, studying him, and the tips of his fingers touch to build an arc.

“What brings you to me, dear brother?” he asks, sounding as if he has smoked a pack of cigarettes before. That's rather unusual. He doesn't get up though. His hair is a little mussed and his lips are red and swollen. What has he been up to?

"Don’t be thick. I know you’ve been watching." Ilfort eyes his brother suspiciously, unsure whether to be angry or feel malicious glee at his debauched state.

"Even if I had been, do you think that enables me to read your mind? There are so many reasons why you could come to me. You could, for instance, ask about my well-being, or my research, or..." Szayel trails off and heaves himself out of his chair. 

Ilfort scoffs. "Funny you should mention your research."

His brother's eyes flicker downward and a feral grin splits his face. "Do you need something to take care of what that witch so obviously failed to?"

Ilfort involuntarily looks down to the bulge in his hakama, before snapping his eyes up again and scowling at his brother. "Don't mention that whore -- that's disgusting."

"Mh, but that thought seems to have you quite excited. Naughty brother."

"Fuck you."

Szayel steps closer, one measured step after the other. "You know I'd rather expend my energy for you, my love."

Ilfort stands his ground and crosses his arms. "Haven't had enough, had you?"

Szayel's eyes lower and runs a gloved finger over his bottom lip. "Oh, this?" He looks at Ilfort again and grins. "I'll always make an exception for you."

That bastard. He's toying with Ilfort, knowing full well his suggestions tug at his cock and keep him hard. "No, thank you." He attempts a mocking smile.

"Are you sure? Wouldn't want you to leave dissatisfied with my services." Szayel was no standing before him and and reached out to touch his shoulder.

"I told you I was here for your research," Ilfort brushed the hand away. "Don't you have anything that seals Resurrecciones?"

Szayel is not to be shaken and steps even closer. "Hers?"

Ilfort's lips curl, baring his teeth. "I could defeat her then."

He keeps glaring at his brother, but doesn't say anything when he rests his elbow on his shoulder this time. "Mh, so desperate to get into her panties, are we? Oh, I forgot, you _were_ in her panties, just not the way you wanted to be."

Oh, Ilfort wanted to bite him, snap his jaws around his brother's throat and squeeze his teeth against the bones. It was best to ignore him, though. Any reaction to his teasing just eggs him on. Besides, he wasn't the target of his seething anger. "I want to bash in her skull until you can't tell her face from her brains. If she has any. Probably fucked them right out."

Szayel chuckles and runs his fingers up Ilfort's arm. "Sounds like being a toyboy must be so frustrating."

Ilfort sneers. "What do you know about being frustrated? Don't you get everything by lapping up to Aizen-sama?"

"Oh, no. Not nearly everything." His fingers trailed down Ilfort's stomach, and he licks his lips. "You, for instance, I can't get through Aizen-sama."

Ilfort groans when his brother's hand cups his erection through his hakama. "You could, if you asked."

"Of course I could," he drags his palm down Ilfort's length. "But I don't want to bother Aizen-sama with a trivial request like this."

Ilfort yanks his brother's head back and scowls at him again. "You call me trivial?"

Szayel shivers, but it could be mistaken for a laugh. "Not you, silly. The request of having you." His brother melds against him, his own erection pressing against Ilfort's thigh.

"You base whore," Ilfort huffed. "Do you have to hump my leg?"

His anger is slowly dissipating, or at least the pressing need to rip that Cirucci-bitch to shreds. Szayel is entirely too good at distracting him, at channeling his anger. He's entirely too good at a lot of things Ilfort wants to do to him now.

"Tell me if you have a better idea," Szayel prompts.

His hand slips into the opening at the side of his hakama and Ilfort groans and tugs harder at his brother's strands as those teasing fingers curl around his cock. His gaze is intent behind the half-shut lids. He's savouring this.

Ilfort bares his teeth at Szayel, who begins stroking him, but way too slowly. After today's ordeal he needs to get off fast. He bites his brother's bottom lip and bucks into his hands, growling. Szayel hisses, but grins. That bastard loves pain, sometimes a little too much for Ilfort's taste. He thrives on pain, after all, and where's the fun if your victim enjoys himself?

But, this can work, too.

Releasing his brother's lip, Ilfort rasps, "You're right. There's no need to bother Aizen-sama, since you're so obviously offering yourself to me. Now, you can decide which hole you want me to fuck."

Szayel's eyes flutter as his head grows heavy against his hand. That slut can get off on mere words. "Would you help me undress then?"

Ilfort eyes his brother for a moment, then pulls the zipper of his tunic down, unhooking teeth by teeth, a slow hiss in the otherwise silent room. The screens may flicker but the sound is off. They give off only a low hum.

He runs his thumb along his collarbone, drags his nails down his pecs, his nipples, and Szayel shivers under his touch. It's always strange to see his pale unbroken skin, the smooth expanse of his chest, so unlike his own that is punctured by his Hollow hole. Ilfort winds his arms around his brother's waist, crushes him against his chest, and sinks his teeth into his neck. Szayel gasps, bucks his hips and digs his fingers into Ilfort's shoulders.

Ilfort crowds him against his surveillance deck and Szayel moans again, slips his legs around Ilfort's hips and his hands up his neck to tug his face up. Ilfort complies, lets himself be guided and then invaded by Szayel's tongue. He keeps his head in place and kisses him as though he were starving for it.

His fingers skim the edge of Szayel's hakama, trail between them, and unravel the sash in two quick jerks. Szayel grinds his hips against Ilfort one last time before unclenching his thighs and setting his feet on the ground. Ilfort gives him enough space so that his hakama can drop to the floor. He smoothes his hands down his chest, over his sides, and squeezing his arse.

With a last bite to his brother's lips he draws back to look at him, those lewd, inviting eyes, his flushed cheeks and chest, and his eyes travelled right past his cock to settle on the mark on his thigh.

"What is this?" Ilfort asks, crouches down to look at it and smooth a hand over the skin.

Szayel trembles. "Something I wanted to show you. Aizen-sama gave this to me earlier." He grins. "It means I'm an Espada now."

Ilfort looks up, confused. "How do you mean? Will you replace someone?"

What he means is, why would Aizen-sama elect someone like his brother as an Espada, when there are stronger Arrancar out there. Wait -- earlier? Of course. The mussed hair, the swollen lips? It all makes sense now.

Szayel chuckles and angles his thigh outward, giving Ilfort a better look at the number tattooed there. "They, my dear brother, will _all_ be replaced."

Ilfort's eyes widen. "You mean..."

"Yes, even your little girlfriend."

"Fuck you," Ilfort tries to glare at his brother, but this is too intriguing. "What will happen to them?" He hopes he will get a chance to get even with that whore.

"Oh, don't worry. They will just be locked away. I'm sure if you ask nicely, Aizen-sama will allow you to have fun with your girl."

The grin growing on Ilfort's face is grotesque. He would love to see her face when she hears the news.

"Better if you ask," he says, "since he gives you everything."


End file.
